Safe Places
by masked-spangler
Summary: Sequel to 'Moving On' and 'Strangers in the Night' & deals with the consequences of Charlotte's rape. As the physical wounds heal, Charlotte must begin dealing with the emotional ones, and a visit home leaves her with only Cooper to lean on...
1. Chapter 1

_Note: I'm back! This story just won't quit on me :) This is a sequel to 'Moving On' and 'Strangers in the Night' and follows Cooper and Charlotte in their life after the attack. In the previous stories, Charlotte endured therapy with Violet, became NA buddies (and neighbours) with Amelia and had some complications from her broken arm dealt with by Addison's old friend Callie from Grey's Anatomy. In this part, the saga continues-and all I'll say about this one is, anyone who has been dying to see her lean more on Cooper than anybody else is going to love this one! Hope you enjoy and as always, your feedback keeps me going, so I hope you'll comment and let me know how you're enjoying it, and what you want to see._

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Part 1

The dress is shiny and black and slinky. It's been weeks since she's worn something like this. Weeks since she's wanted to, and weeks since she could pull it off. But she can expose a little skin now without exposing bruises too, and as of this afternoon, she can slide on regular clothes without wrestling them on over a cast, so she's ready for this long-delayed night of, at last, normalcy.

"You got the wine?" she calls out to Cooper.

"Yes. Four kinds, plus beer and coolers. And ginger ale, for Amelia and you."

"Cheese platter?"

"Yes."

"With the little crackers?"

He comes into the bathroom, gently kisses the top of her head. "It's all done.

"Cause Violet and Pete probably still haven't left yet. So we could get 'em to stop on the way, and..."

"Charlotte," Cooper says. "It's all done."

"Just...this is important. Maybe more than it should be. First time I...we...well, you remember what happened last time we did something like this. And they remember it too."

She'd collapsed in the middle of a thing at Addison's, and it had been humiliating. There had been a legitimate medical situation, sure. Not her fault. But humiliating just the same, and she couldn't help it that she felt that way. The wounds (well, the visible ones, anyway) had at last healed, and she wanted them all to look her in the eye and treat her like everything was normal again...

"They don't remember it," Cooper says.

"Coop..."

"No. None of this was your fault, and everyone knows..."

"They know what they saw, and that's a bruised, broken, victimized whatever, and I'm done with that. I want to move on, Coop. I want to put this all behind me and get on with my job, and my life..."

"You know what Violet said. It's not that easy."

"Violet says a lot of things. I need this, Coop. You have to help me, because I need it."

"Sweetheart, you know I'm here."

"Well, okay than. Aren't you gonna tell me how nice I look?"

* * *

There are drinks, and candles and soft music. There are people, and she floats around the room taking in their compliments on the food and on the night and on the ambience.

"Great party," Amelia says. "Very chic. Love the cheese plate."

"Shut up."

"No, really. Nice to see you...relax a little."

"Yeah. Truth is, I didn't do all that much relaxing even before the..."

"Well, it's nice to see you doing it now. Look around you, Char. They are all here for you, these people here. They are here for you, and they are having a great time."

"Amelia Shepherd, that's a very Violet thing to say."

"We all need to hear Violet things something. Even people like you and me do..."

She shudders, takes another sip of ginger ale. "No more of that talk. Where did you say the cheese plate was?"

* * *

She's in the kitchen, making up a plate for herself, when she hears the doorbell.

"Coop?" she calls out.

But he's already answering it, and there, standing at her door, is that police detective, Price.

She goes rigid, nearly drops the plate.

"Sorry to bother you folks at home," Price is saying. "Seems like you're in the middle of something."

The party has come to a standstill. Everyone is watching this big pile of cop talking to Cooper, and watching her, coming out of the kitchen, staring at the both of them.

"Wanted you to know," Price says. "We think we caught the guy."

The blood rushes to her head. She feels her fingers clench at her sides, sees Cooper turn to look at her with shocked, wide eyes. Feels the ebb of the party as they look too, for her reaction.

It's too much for her. She turns, runs. Waits until she's in the bathroom before collapsing onto the cool, dark tile, flexing her fingers, trying to ride out the pictures in her head and the short, sharp breaths of panic and the noise of the rest of them shouting at her. Well. So much for being normal again.

* * *

She is aware, some time later, of quiet. He's sent them away, of course Cooper would send the rest of them away, and she's dimly aware of a hushed conversation among the core of them - Coop, Violet, Amelia - as they argue about who is going to come in here after her.

She's sitting now, knees drawn up, back resting up against the door. A barricade. She's not ready for them yet. She's still working a little to catch her breath, still seeing a whir of pictures behind her eyes when she closes them, still feeling that dizzy rush of fear as her mind betrays her and loses the control she's worked so hard for. And she's suddenly aware of the fabric of her dress rubbing up against her skin, thick and black and heavy, just as it was the night he...

"She'll come out," Cooper is saying. "If we leave her, she'll come out..."

"But we don't know what she's doing in there," Violet says. "She could be triggering. She could be hurting herself."

"I don't hear the sounds of anything breaking," Amelia says.

"Maybe she took wine in there," Violet counters. "Or something else..."

"Char!" Banging on the door, sharp and fast. Amelia's voice. "Char, can you open the door for me?"

Damn. Can't have a little peace, can't have a little peace...

"Char, sweetie, it's just Coop and Violet and me..."

"Go away." It's all she can manage, all the thinking and speaking she can handle right now. "Go away. Go away. Go away."

A mantra, like she's supposed to be using to de-escalate when she has a panic response. Well, fine then. "Go away," she says again, quieter this time. "Go away. Go away. Go away."

And she's whispering it, timing it with the banging of her head against her knees as she breathes and feels her pulse slowly return to normal. A moment later, she's still and calm and quiet, but she doesn't feel like facing them yet.

"Char?" Amelia calls again.

But they seem to have sensed the shift in energy. "It's stopped now," Violet says. "Whatever it was, I think it's stopped."

"So should we..."

"No," Cooper says. "Leave her, and she'll come out again. She's safe there, Violet. Leave her. Let's clean up some of this. Leave her, and she'll come out."

They drift away, and she hears the sounds of clanging dishes and running water and muted, harried whispers. She drops her head to her knees again, and breathes. There is nothing else she can do for this.

* * *

Later, she doesn't hear the running water anymore. It's pitch dark, and she's still breathing, slow and steady and calm. She's very cold, but she can't seem to bring herself to move to grab the robe that's hanging on the door.

"Charlotte?" Cooper's voice this time. "Char, baby, can I come in?"

She's too tired to fight him on this. She scoots over an inch or two, gives him just the clearance he needs to wedge the door open. He's on his knees, crawling gently over beside her, and he's carrying a blanket.

"Hi," he says.

She lets him wrap the blanket around her goose-bumped arms. "Hi," she says.

"You want to talk about this?"

"I ruined another party."

"No, HE ruined another party. None of this is your fault, Charlotte."

"Doesn't make it easier, knowing it."

"Uh huh. Violet's proud of you. You de-escalated."

"Yup."

"You want to tell me from what?"

"Kinda obvious, ain't it?"

"Well, yeah. But Violet says it's still therapeutically useful for you to tell me."

"Saw that cop. Didn't want to think about that anymore."

"I know."

"Then it just got...got fast on me. Everything, it just got fast and I had to...had to get away from it all. Had to slow it down again. Coop, it got too fast."

"Okay. Well, it's over now. It's over, and I'm here, and you're safe again. And I love you, Charlotte. I love you so much."

She takes a deep breath, and it's easier now. "Yeah. I love you too. Coop, I'm freezing to death."

He laughs. "Come to bed, Charlotte. Come to bed with me."

She lets him pick her up off the cold, slick tile and carry her into the bedroom. But she holds back his hand when he reaches to undo her dress. No man is going to take off her clothes again. Not yet.

* * *

She dreams, as she always does, of a blurred, sweaty face looming over her. Sometimes, she can make out details in the face. Sometimes, the face changes into that of someone she knows. Cooper, Pete, one of her brothers. Sometimes, the face stays blurry. Was that why she had such a strong reaction when the cop came to tell her they had him? If she sees that face again, if it stops being a cipher she's repressed from the trauma...

She turns, reaches instinctively for Cooper's hand beside her.

"Coop?"

He mumbles in his sleep, and she squeezes his hand, a little more urgently this time. "Coop? Can we talk for a sec?"

He jolts awake, springs up onto his elbows. "Whaa...Char, hey, I'm here, it's okay. Are you..."

"Holding. Need to run something by you though."

He rubs blurry eyes. "Now?"

"Yes, now. Wouldn't have woken you if I could wait until morning, would I?"

He notices her hand clenching his, squeezes back. "Okay. I'm listening."

She takes a deep breath. "The line-up. What if I don't do it?"

"Well, if you don't do it, he goes free, Charlotte. And we spend the rest of our lives wondering if he's out there watching us. If he's going to hurt you again. Or hurt someone else."

"Damn it, Cooper, you're not making this easy."

"But I don't...why would you not want to do it? Why would you not want to see him put away?"

"Cause if I see him put away, it means I have to SEE him, Coop. Right now, he's a shadow. A figment. A blurry shape who comes at me in nightmares. If I see him, he'll have to be a real person, and I don't...don't know if I can-if I want to-deal with that. A real face, a name..."

"I'm here for you," he says. This is the only thing he can say right now. She knows that Sheldon has been coaching him, and this is all he can say when she talks about this. He's trying to help her. But sometimes, this thing that he says, his own little de-escalating mantra, just isn't enough. She feels her breath quicken. She wants a drink. Or a pill. She needs to talk to Violet. Or worse- to Amelia.


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: Yes, I am watching the show :) Going a little AU from it, of course, as one does with these things. But yes, I am watching it. Cooper is going to much stronger in this fic, and so is Charlotte, incidentally-some angst, but some necessary character growth. I think (hope) you will like the direction, which will become more obvious in the next chapter after this one. In the meantime, enjoy (I hope!)_

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Part 2

She waits for Cooper to drift off again, then slips quietly put of bed, pads into the living room. Her now cast-free hand hesitates for just a second over the speed-dial button on her cell phone, debating which one of them she needs more. She closes her eyes, letting instinct guide her.

"Charlotte?" Amelia answers. She seems to know, without waiting for the hello, that nobody else would call her at this hour. "You okay?"

"I need to go to a meeting," she says. "Right now."

"It's two in the morning, Char."

"Then you'd better go on-line and start looking. Cause if you can't find one happening now, you'll need to come and sit with me until."

There's a moment's pause. "That bad?"

"My hands are shaking. Amelia, I wouldn't call- not even you- if I wasn't...if it wasn't..."

"Got it. Can you hold for ten minutes?"

"Guess I have to."

"Okay. Get dressed. Pour yourself a tall glass of water. Say your mantras. I'll be down as soon as I can."

By the time Amelia gets there, she's bundled in grey sweat pants and her warmest sweater, and she's curled up on the couch with a blanket on top of all that. She's still shivering, and her hands are shaking so hard she hasn't even tried to pour the water yet. A pillow has fallen to the floor and she's kicking it as hard as she can with her foot while she waits.

"Oh geez," Amelia says, taking all of it in with a methodical, professional examination. "Um, first thing. That pillow do something you didn't like?"

She shrugs. "Felt like hitting something. Wasn't sure my hand was up to it yet."

"Fair enough. You want to talk, or you want to sit?"

"I want to go to a goddamned meeting."

"Next one I could find is 6 am. In the valley. That's four hours away, but we can leave for it in three."

Her fists clench. "Too long."

"Then we'll have one, right here, right now. Just us. My name is Amelia Shepherd, and I am a narcotics addict."

"Damn."

"Your turn. Say it, come on."

"My name is Charlotte King and I am a narcotics addict."

"Good girl. Hi, Charlotte. So, who would like to speak today? Char?"

She sighs. "Well, we've been working it, Coop and I. He's getting his little therapy tricks from Sheldon. I'm getting mine from Violet. But it ain't enough sometimes. He says what he's supposed to say, and it ain't enough. And then what am I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to recognize that the craving you're feeling is a stress response, and you can control your reactions to it. A pill won't fix this, Charlotte."

"No. But it will slow everything down for awhile. Give me a break from all this."

"Slow what down?"

"My thoughts. My breath. My heart."

"Oh, sweetie..."

"I see him, when I close my eyes, Amelia. And he comes at me again in these quick, hard flashes, and the rest of me speeds up along with the pictures. And now, they've found him, and Cooper wants me to do this line-up, to look him in the eye so that he has a face again. Hard enough when he comes at me all fast and blurry. If he comes at me when it's slow and clear too, then when am I supposed to breathe, exactly?"

Amelia sighs. "We need Violet for this."

"Uh huh. How long until the meeting?"

* * *

When Cooper comes out in the morning, She's curled up on the couch, body still shaking a little, her head resting in Amelia's lap. Amelia has not been sleeping She's kept vigil all night, stroking her hair, rubbing her back, doing her best to just be there and let her rest. She figures she's managed an hour of fitful sleep among the three they've spent together.

Cooper rubs his eyes, stares dumbly at Amelia. "When did you get here?"

"Couple of hours. Think Violet will be up yet, Coop? I've been waiting, to call."

"She's probably been up for awhile already. Lucas is teething."

"Ah. Call her, will you?"

"What happened?"

"What happened is, I've been holding her together until it was day enough to call Violet. She needs to talk about the line-up, Coop. She has some legitimate fears about this."

"I'm right here," she grumbles. "I can hear you two."

Cooper smiles. "Morning, sweetie."

"Bite me."

"That's my girl. Amelia, how worried should I be about this?"

"Worried enough to call Violet, Cooper. Now."

"Got it." He turns to her., deposits a kiss on the top of her head. "Am I bringing you in with me? Or should Violet meet you here?"

"I'll go in. Get out of here for awhile, I guess. Need a drink. Or a pill. Or something."

Cooper winces. Well, too bad for him, if he can't deal. It's not as bad as what she's feeling. She hasn't had cravings this bad since the night itself, when Pete did up her arm in the casts and bandages...

"I wonder if getting the cast off triggered some of this," Amelia is saying.

"Stop head-shrinking me. Just...just try and distract me, Amelia, I'm floundering here."

"Okay. So, this one time, when I was in college? Addison came down for a visit, and and we snuck into this air force base to go see this band, and..."

It's a start. By the time they get into the office, she's juiced up on coffee and when Amelia speaks to her, she can focus a little and actually comprehend. Her hands are still shaking. But she thinks it's from the caffeine this time.

* * *

Violet takes one look at her and grabs the cell phone and appointment book off her desk. "Give me five minutes to shift some stuff around," she says.

She sits in Violet's office. Waits. By the time Violet comes back, she's shivering, and she's crying and her hands are still shaking. Violet sits again, waits. And a quarter of the way through the allotted session time, she's still waiting.

"Charlotte? You ready to stop now?"

She can't catch her breath. She shakes her head, takes a deep, heaving breath and tries to shut everything down a little, but it's all going fast again and all she can feel is the panic as her breath quickens and her heart pounds and the pictures flash like pinpricks behind her eyes...

"Now, none of that," says Violet firmly. She's left the desk and come to sit where she is, arm around her, hugging her close and trying to ease her thrashes and bring her back again.

"Come on, Char. You know what to do for me. Breathe, hon. Slow and steady..."

And Violet is breathing with her, mirroring the smooth, even pulse of normality, rubbing her back in gentle circles, and she finds herself soothing a little.

"Okay," she says a moment later. "Okay. I'm ready now."

"Good girl." Violet keeps her hand moving, massaging her back, keeping up the contact. Speaking to her in the same soft, matter-of-fact tone she uses with any patient. "Been awhile since you had a stress response this bad."

"Yeah."

"You know what I think? I think this might be blowback from your arm coming out of that cast. You haven't got an injury to focus on anymore. So all of your repressed emotions are coming out and you haven't got anything else to distract you."

"They found him."

"Well, that too. But like I said. Nothing else to deal with, now that the arm is healed, except for what you're feeling."

"Just...just hate losing control like this. It's like one minute I'm fine and then the next minute, everything just goes fast on me."

"Yes, you said that yesterday. Can you explain to me what you mean by everything going fast?"

"I start seeing the pictures again, like little flicks of blurry light behind my eyes. And then everything else speeds up too, and it all gets ahead of me, and then I can't breathe..."

"Classic panic attack," Violet says. "Textbook, really."

Well, fine. It's a relief, at least, to have something about her be normal.

Violet introduces a new idea to her, once she's calmed down enough to listen. The idea is that of a safe place- a place she has in her memory which she can substitute for the scary ones her mind is going to while she works through all this.

"You feel it speeding up on you again, and you tell yourself 'I'm not there right now.' And you picture your safe place, where everything is warm and friendly and peaceful. And you tell yourself you're there instead. Can you think of a place like that, Charlotte? A place where you once felt warm and safe and happy?"

Not home, certainly. Indifferent brothers, a distant mother and the force of nature that was Big Daddy, her only anchor through it all. Not her grandmother's either; warm and safe though that was, they would flee there when Momma had been drinking, and that's hardly a memory she needs to cling to right now. She thinks for a second about Holcomb Creek, that childhood play spot that ran behind the bandstand at the park near school. But then she remembers that she lost her virginity to the youngest Holcomb brother there, and the memory of that almost makes everything go fast again...

"No," she says. "I can't think of anything like that."

"Come on," Violet says. "Think back to your childhood. Your homes. People you love. Places you've been. You can't think of a single spot on earth where you felt at peace at one time in your life?"

"No."

"Work with me, Charlotte."

She sighs. "Guess I'm not a fuzzy person."

"Look at me." Violet stops the back rub, pulls her hand away. All-business now. "You're a good person, don't ever doubt that. Okay, so maybe your sentimental side is a little...under-developed...but that does NOT mean there's anything wrong with you. It's like any other angle you work in life. You practice, and it gets easier. And maybe exploring this side of yourself will turn out to be an enriching experience for you."

It disturbs her a little, to think that what's happened might lead to any kind of enriching in her life. She doesn't want to be enriched. She wants to drop this whole thing into a box and never think about it again, and she doesn't understand why Violet can't help her do this...

"Charlotte, look at me," Violet says. "I know what you're thinking, and you have it wrong. Therapy is...well, it's life, really. Self-work is a part of life, and it can help you no matter what else may be going on. Developing this side of yourself is something you may have gotten to anyway, at some point."

"But it isn't some point. It's now, from this. And I can't...I can't take anything away from this, Violet. Cause if I do, it means I am carrying this with me, every day, as part of myself."

"Won't you be?"

"To be honest, I thought I would just move on and pretend this never happened."

"Not really an option, hon. These things don't work that way."

"So, how am I supposed to work it, than?"

"You're supposed to grieve. Work through your feelings. And come away from this as strong and as whole and as complete as you can be so you can have your life again. In some ways, that life may be worse for awhile. In some ways, it might be better in the end. Because you'll do things to make it better, the same as you would have if this hadn't happened. It's life, Charlotte. You can't break pieces of it off and lock them away, because it's all a part of life."

"So...what, than?"

"So think of a place for me. A place where you felt loved and safe and happy."

She frowns. "There was a beach house," she says after a moment. "A little B&B five steps away from the ocean. Coop and I stayed there once. Had little muffins and orange juice in the mornings. Walked in the sand. All that crap. More for him than me, I guess. But there are no bad memories there, no fights, no work, no drama. Just Coop and me. At this little house on the beach."

"Okay. Now, close your eyes. Can you see the little beach house, Charlotte?"

She sees the flashy movement of a blurry hand coming down to strike at her. But she blinks, tries to focus. Sees the house. "Yes."

"Can you smell the orange juice mixing with the salty sea air? Can you feel the weight of the little muffin in your hand as you walk across the shoreline with the sand crunching beneath your feet?"

"Yes."

"This is your safe place, Charlotte. Nothing bad can happen to you there."

"But...he can't come at me? While I'm..."

"No. He can't. Cooper is there too, Charlotte. He's there, watching over the safe place. And Amelia is there, and I'm there, and everyone who cares about you. You can't see us, because the safe space is just for you. But we're there, and we're watching, and we'll keep him away for you."

She breathes, and for a second, she really can smell the ocean just like she was there. "Well, that's awful nice of you."

"No problem. Now, I have a job for you. I want you to keep the image of that safe place handy. And next time everything goes fast, you bail on it and you go and hide at the beach house until it slows down again. You understand?"

She understands. It's like Pete and the hoodoo, it's nonsense, of course. But it makes everybody feel better- even her, a little- when she plays along.


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

She ducks out with Cooper at lunch to get the line-up done. She feels her throat closing up as soon as she sets foot in the police station, but she tries to remember what Violet told her. She has a safe place now. Not here, she tells herself, feeling her fingers tighten as the spots of panicky light flicker in her eyes. Not here, not here, not here...

Then she's on a hard, plastic chair, and her head is between her knees, and Cooper is holding her hand.

"Breathe, baby. You're okay, it's okay, deep breaths..."

The cop looks sympathetic. Waits for her to get a hold of herself. Then, takes her in.

She sees him, right away, she sees him, and the pictures flash before her eyes ever faster. Safe place, she tells herself. Not here. Not here. And now that his face is clear for her, it's realer somehow, and she she sees the blows in her head, she feels them on her body again, and she's crumpling to the floor, holding her stomach, her arm hanging limply at her side...

"Jesus," the cop says.

"It's two," she gasps out between panicky whimpers. "It's two. Number two. And don't even tell me what his name is..."

The cop nods, turns and leaves them. Nobody comes in again; they let her collect herself and leave when she's ready. She hears the cop say something to Cooper about how good it is that she reacted. There are gaps in the evidence, and seeing her do this again, in court, might be the best chance they have of nailing the bastard.

She staggers out of Cooper's attentive grip, makes it to the bathroom before she's sick.

* * *

"Maybe we should get out of town for awhile," Cooper says. He's driving them back to the office and doing his best to look nonchalant and non-rattled.

"Hmmm?"

"Have a break from all this. You're healed now, and we won't hear from Price for awhile. You keep saying you want to get on with things. So maybe we just need a break for a couple days. We could run ourselves up to that little B&B we went to that one time..."

No. That is hallowed ground now, a safe place. She won't go there again, in the real world.

"Or somewhere else, if you'd rather. Get away from all this. Get away from...from him..."

She doesn't want to think about that, doesn't want to think about him out there on bail or something, his bright eyes, his dark hair, his clean features, his strong, hard hands raining down on her, his fingers moving up and down...

"Hey. Charlotte, look at me, it's okay, we don't..."

"It's not okay," she snaps. "Stop doing that, Coop!"

"But..."

"No! You're like...like this slick Sheldon thing, you're saying all the things you're supposed to say, but it's not okay, and it isn't helping!"

He's quiet. "Well? What would help?"

"Just be you, I guess. Be you. Don't say what you're supposed to. Tell me something real."

"Okay. I'm scared, Charlotte. I'm scared that if we stay here right now while this isn't done, we'll see him, and I won't be able to control myself."

"Oh, Coop..."

"And yeah, I'm scared for you. That seeing him out there somewhere will make you hurt again, like you hurt this morning. But even more than that. I'm scared for me."

"Okay. Okay, Coop."

"So, will you think about it? Going away for a couple days?"

"I'll think. Can't promise more, right now. But I'll think."

* * *

To her surprise, Violet's with Cooper on this one. "Might be a good idea," she says.

"But...you...my sessions..."

"You're right on track, actually. You have the tools- for now, anyway. Might be that the best thing to do right now is go away for a couple days and process it before we work again."

"And...Amelia..."

"We're a phone call away, if you need us. It's a good idea, Charlotte. Just think about it."

And she does. She thinks about it all afternoon, and what it comes down to, for her, is that scary though it might be to rejoin the world again, to go out there, just her and Coop, and leave the other ones...this is what life is going to be. There is not always a meeting. There is not always a Violet. The only constant is her own strength, and his, together. And she'd best get used to that, or she'll never really come back from this the way she should.

To her surprise, by the end of the day, it turns out to be out of her hands. When she heads back into her office, there is an email waiting for her from one of her brothers. It's Momma's birthday. She is being summoned.

* * *

Cooper is delighted. He's picturing that big old house, that rolling Alabama countryside. She's picturing her addict mother, her cold brothers, that repressed Southern Gothic that made things so hard for her once she had left it for more open places. She has that coldness too. She has that smothering choke-hold on her inner self that turned her to drugs, to sex, to all the things that got her into trouble later. There's baggage. Of course there is. And all Cooper can see is the goddamned house.

"First time back since your father?" Cooper asks. He's read her mood, but given it over to the wrong reasons. Now that he mentions it, there's that too. But it's more the feeling she gets that when she thinks about that place, those people, she has to close up everything inside her and just hold it in until she's out of there again. She's not sure she's strong enough for that right now, with the rest of her still so raw and reeling...

"Tell me what I can do," Cooper says.

"Nothing," she snaps without thinking. But then, she thinks about it again. "Won't have Violet. Won't have Amelia. You'll have to be them for me, Coop. Be you, but also be them."

"And I won't have Sheldon," he says.

"But that's better right now. Coop, it's you I need. The real you."

"And I need you," he says.

"You won't get it, there. Not unless we're in private. Coop, these are not sharing people. And here I am, supposed to be learning that, and then going back in there..."

"I'll be with you," he says.

"Yeah. I know you will. You want to book it, or should I?"

She gives him special dispensation to talk to Violet, just this once. But he insists she come with him, and she's glad she does, because the first thing Violet wants to do is work out some things that he can say when something difficult happens.

"For example," Violet says. "If she says she's feeling afraid, you could say I'm here for you."

But he's getting this sort of platitude already from Sheldon, and it isn't helping her. It is surprising for her to learn, as someone who thought they prized distance as much as she did, that what she is craving right now is real honesty. She doesn't want canned responses from him. If she says something and it worries him, she wants it to be okay for him to say so. This is not just about her, anymore. She's thrown in her lot with him, and he gets to feel about that too.

"I'm worried a little, about the addiction thing," Cooper admits from the safety of Violet's office. "Her family...well, let's just say stuff may be around, and people may be around who are using it..."

"That's a fair point," Violet says. "And maybe Amelia would be the one to speak to about it."

"No," she interrupts. "I'm the one to speak to. Coop, I know the deal on this. Got through harder stuff than what it is now without the pills already, because I made a choice on this. I'll hold."

"It'll be hard for you."

"Lot of things in life are hard. I'll hold. I'll call Amelia, if I need to. But I'll hold."

"As for the rest of it," Violet says. "You have the tools. You know how to de-escalate, if the panic hits. You know how to switch over to a safe place if you're in a scary one. Might take you some time, in the implementing-and you might scare Cooper half to death while he waits for you to come back to him-but you have the tools. Consider this little trip a field test to see how you do deploying them without me."

That's a good way to frame it, she reflects. She's a smart one-medical school, being chief as young as she is-and she has always excelled at tests.

* * *

The flight leaves in the morning. They have night in their own bed together and now that they've reached this new understanding, he not surprisingly (but lord help her just the same) wants to spend it talking.

"Are you okay with this? Really, are you okay?"

And she decides, then and there, to give him what she's asked him for herself: real honesty. Like it or lump it, however much the truth in her head might make him worry, he's going to hear it if he asks.

"No," she says. "Not really."

"But?"

"But I'll do it. This is my test, Coop- more than that dumb old party, this is my test for getting back at things. And I have you to help me."

He smiles, and for the first time in weeks, she lets him cuddle up beside her just a little. And for the first time, the warmth of his body beside her is a tiny comfort.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

She dreams that night, more than one time, and all of them are dreams of Alabama. In the first dream, she's nine years old and she's home sick. She can feel, in the dream, the sticky crust of fever radiating from her forehead clear across her flushed, sweaty eyes. She can feel Momma's boozy breath as she peers down at her, concerned, but not knowing quite what to do with it. Then she hears a knock at her bedroom door, and Momma rises saying 'that'll be the doctor.' And then Momma opens the door, and it's the man from the line-up, and he's dressed up like a doctor and grinning triumphantly...

Then she's sixteen, and she's at Holcomb Creek behind the bandstand near the school. She spent much of her youth there; it was an easy place to lose her brothers, and the boys she met instead were interesting, and interested. She's there, in the dream, with the youngest Holcomb brother- she forgets his name, they'll all so similar, in name as in everything- and he's leaning in to kiss her, and the hem of her dress is trailing in the muddy water of the creek, and her face is just a tiny bit sunburned because it's summer, and she's young and she's beautiful and she thinks she's in love. And she closes her eyes as he leans in to kiss her, and when she feels his lips descending, she opens them again. And it isn't the Holcomb brother anymore, it's him, it's him...

She wakes up in a cold sweat, heart racing, sheets sticking to her as she kicks and tries to free her limbs. Cooper is at once alert, and attentive.

"Hey, babe."

"Coop."

"You want to talk about it?"

"I told you, Coop. Told you I didn't want to see his face."

"I know you did. So, do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Well, it's almost five a.m. We have to be up in an hour anyway, if we want to make our flight. We could just, I don't know, call it a night, I guess. I could make you some breakfast. French toast, maybe."

"I can make my own damn food."

"I know you can. I'm only saying, I could make some." He keeps his voice gentle and his movements slow and obvious as he reaches over, pulls her arm close, starts gently palpating the skin from the elbow downward. The cast may be off, but the arm still needs babying, and he's under orders to check it daily and be watchful for signs that something isn't setting right. It's the only intimate contact she has allowed him since...since IT happened, and she suspects he's milking it a little. But she submits, as she has for every indignity...

"Okay," she finally says. "Make the French toast if you want to." And then, to punish him a little, because she's grouchy and she's nervous and can't stand being that way-and he's right here, touching her- she adds "And I'm gonna need help with this luggage business. Can't carry 'em yet."

"On it, my lady. First shower goes to you. When you come out, I'll have breakfast waiting."

* * *

The shower revives her a little, and she comes out with the edge smoothed off her nerves a little, and feeling contrite.

"Thanks," she says. She sits down, studies the plate, can't quite bring herself to meet his eyes.

"My pleasure. Anything else I can get you?"

She sighs. "Coop, I'm sorry. I'm not the the greatest patient in the world."

"Most doctors aren't."

"I know. But most of them are maybe better at this whole sharing thing. I'm trying, I am. But this is all...it's pushing me. In ways I'm not used to being pushed."

"It's okay, Charlotte. You don't need to apologize."

"Maybe I do. Some things may take time we don't want to wait for. Some things may be harder than is fair, for you also. And I'm not gonna always say I'm sorry, because when I get scared my instinct's gonna be to hide, or to lash out on you, just because you're there and you're seeing it. And that ain't fair, but it's gonna happen just the same."

He kisses the top of her head as he walks past her, toward the bathroom. "I love you. And I'm here."

This is not an entirely satisfactory answer. But she suspects this is going to be a hard enough day, when all is said and done, that it's not worth pushing right now. She lets him have his shower, and she eats his breakfast. But there's a part of her that's raised its hackles, ready for a fight already.

* * *

The line-ups are horrendous. They get to the airport and see the signs about enhanced security, and with a sick feeling, she realizes why. Those scanners she read about. The ones that can see under your clothes...

Cooper looks ill as he takes in the scene. "Oh, babe," he says quietly. "I didn't even think about this..."

She is resolute. She'll white-knuckle this, as she has every other invasion. Pete, with the bandages. Addison, with the hands. Callie, with the scalpel. Invasions, all of them. And she got through it just fine. Unpleasant, and not her choosing. But she got through it...

"No," Cooper says. "I know what you're thinking, and no."

"What?"

"You're just gonna grit your teeth and suffer through it, aren't you?"

"Have I got any kind of choice?"

"You know, it's okay to be uncomfortable. It's okay to SAY you are."

"What would I want to do that for?"

"Cause maybe it would make that racing heart of yours slow down a little? Realizing that I know you're anxious, and I'm here for you?"

But she's tired of hearing it. "You keep saying that," she snits. "Like it means something. You're here with me. And?"

"And it does mean something. I'm not just here _with_ you, Char. I'm here _for_ you. For whatever you need."

"Right now, I need you to carry the bag for me. Because I can't use my arm."

He sighs. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Best I can do right now. I'm a little busy, Coop. Trying not to think too hard about a bunch of horny redneck boys sitting in a room somewhere and ogling me in the name of national security..."

"Oh, believe me, I get that. Can I ask you? Just this one time?"

She stops, feels her fingers clenching. "Fine. One time."

"Are you okay?"

"Not really. But holding. Let's just get through this. I'll hold."

And she does. She almost does. Until she comes through the scanner and there is uniformed giant on the other side, waving her over like he's some kind of traffic cop. Secondary screening, he says. She's been randomly selected. She has time to register, before she feels her heart go fast on her, the irony that this latest violation is happening in the name of her own security.

* * *

She's sitting in a curtained area, head between her knees, trying to breathe a little while Cooper argues with a taser-toting supervisor who's glaring at her like she's a wet dog. She can't make out the low whispers. But as the blood rushes to her head and she tries to block out the noise a little, she's dimly aware of beefy fingers pointing from Cooper, to her, then back to Cooper again. At last, he comes over, kneels down beside her.

"I am so, so sorry," he says.

She takes a deep breath, centers herself. At last. "Coop."

"I told them to do it on me instead," he says. "They said they couldn't do it."

She sighs, lifts up her head, the newly found calm evaporating. "Bottom line this for me, Coop. What do I have to do?"

"Well, they won't go actually under your clothes," he says. "But Char, they're going to touch you on top of them, in some pretty delicate places. It's called an enhanced pat-down. They'll go...with their hands..."

She blinks, tries to process this. "This is America," she finally says.

"Uh huh."

"Did you...did you tell them something? About...Coop, do they know? You can tell them. I give consent for that. Coop, if it'll get me out of this, I give consent..."

Then there is another face, a woman's face, and she's wearing a uniform and she's wearing gloves and she nods to Cooper to move aside and then kneels down in his place beside her.

"Hey, hon."

She looks over the strangers face, to Cooper, and he shakes his head, tries not to look defeated. But the woman gives him an encouraging smile, then turns back to her.

"I'm Jessie. I work with the TSA and I am going to be with you today for this."

But a part of her still hasn't accepted that this is happening, and she doesn't answer.

"I'm also a volunteer with the rape crisis centre," the woman says. "And I couldn't help but notice that word you used just now. It has me wondering, if I might presume to ask...how long has it been? Look, I want to make this as gentle as I can. So if you've...if you want to tell me, it'll help me to know if this is going to be a triggering thing."

Hell yes, it's going to be a triggering thing. There are places she hasn't even let Cooper touch yet. But hearing that word, triggering, reminds her. This is going to be a stress response, and she has strategies for dealing with those. It's a test, like Violet says. This woman can call it whatever she wants- a pat-down, a screening- but for her, it won't be any of those things. It will be a stress response, and she has a safe place for that...

She hears Cooper's voice. "Her arm is still broken."

Jessie looks at her again, than him. "What?"

"The cast came off yesterday. But it's still broken, from when she...you asked how long it's been. And her arm is still broken. That's how long."

"Well, shit," Jessie says.

"Yeah," Cooper says. "That about covers it."

"This is my job. I have to do this. It's my job."

"Then do it," she says. She stands, looks around for the designated spot. "Do it and be done so I can stop thinking about this."

And the gloves make a snapping sound as the TSA agent adjusts them on her fingers. She sees the flickery spots of light rush past her eyes, and at last reaches her threshold. She disassociates. Her brain- and body- go numb, and she shuts herself down completely.

* * *

Next thing she knows, she's on a gurney and Cooper is beside her, holding her hand and squeezing it gently while he looks at her.

"Char? You there, babe?"

There's a crowd of faces, and she tries to breathe. It still feels fast...

"Uh uh," Cooper chides her. "Let's not do that again. You're here, Charlotte. You're right here with me, and it's okay..."

There's a cuff on her wrist, and she struggles instinctively. Cooper hushes her again. "It's a blood pressure monitor. Charlotte, you're okay."

Then, to one of the faces, he says "She's coming around, I think. Can you take that off? She has a bit of a trigger with having her hands restrained."

The cuff comes off. "You should have gotten a letter," a man's voice says.

"Didn't think of it. Didn't know we'd have to go through this."

"I'll write you one," the voice says. "Spare you this, coming home. She okay?"

"I think she's listening, but she's pretending not to cause she doesn't want to talk right now," Coop says. "Are we clear to leave, when she's ready? She passed the screening..."

"Buddy, if you want to fly with her like this, that's on you. I'll write you the letter, and they won't screen her again. But my opinion, she needs rest. And medication."

That, at last, rouses her all the way back. "No drugs," she says. "Coop, no drugs, no drugs..."

"Hey," he grins. "Hey, you're back!"

"Huh. What the hell happened?"

"You scared the heck out of the TSA is what happened. They tried to give you a pat-down and as soon as they touched you, you went all limp and glassy-eyed, and wouldn't answer. We're in the airport infirmary right now, and Dr. Meyer here has just gotten off the phone with Violet and is now writing us a letter so this doesn't happen again."

"Did they finish it?" she asks. "The screening, did they finish it?"

"Well, you kinda fainted on them, so no. Even they draw the line at groping unconscious people. But you did get a sort of a pat-down here, while Dr. Meyer examined you."

She supposes she's fine with that. That's following standard first aid protocol, which is another kettle of fish altogether from the other thing.

"Violet's gonna be pissed at me," she says after a moment.

"Why do you say that?"

"Supposed to be a test, this whole thing. Seems I flunked it."

"I don't know. You're telling me this. So, that's progress over last time."

"Fair enough."

"And I don't think it's a test that's necessarily over after just one question. You get me?"

She hadn't considered that, and she should have. She's still off her game. "Coop?"

"Yeah, babe."

"Gonna need some gum for the airplane. My ears pop something fierce."

He takes the hint. Enough talking. He hefts their bags, and they are on their way.


	5. Chapter 5

Part 5

They have less time to kill in the airport terminal than they thought they would; she supposes there's that silver lining at least. She does not excel at patiently waiting, and does not especially want to sit there and dwell on what's in her head right now.

She senses Cooper hovering a little. He says something about blood sugar and electrolytes and tries pushing food on her again, and she's on the verge of snapping back at him to leave her alone when she realizes that she can just shut off this whole thing, like she did before, and enjoy some peace while she waits for him to stop talking.

She's careful to keep herself steady and keep part of her mind on the talking, so she'll know he's finished and it's safe to come out again. She endures a brief moment of pause as she recognizes on some level this this is a bad coping strategy. But at the same time, she has to admit, there's something nice about this whole checking out thing. Stuff goes on around her, but in her head, she's someplace else so it just whooshes by...

Then he's shaking her, his hand grasping her shoulder a little too firmly, and she's back again, and flinching away.

"Hey!"

"Hey yourself," Cooper says. "You with me, babe? You seemed to kind of go off into space for a second."

"Only a second?"

He frowns. "Okay, talk to me. What's going on?"

She shakes her head. "Not now."

"But..."

"No, Coop. I said, not now. Ask me again when we're at 50,000 feet it you have to, but I need some space while we sit. I need some quiet."

"Charlotte..."

"You're worried. I know you are. But I just can't do it right this second, Coop, I can't. Let me have some peace. We'll talk later. I promise we will."

He frowns. "I'm holding you to it. You can count on that."

He says something else, but she's already stopped listening. In the safe place, the only sounds she can hear are her quiet, steady breathing and the crack of the waves hitting the shore as her toes wriggle into the sand and she relaxes.

* * *

He gets her on the plane, she guesses. She doesn't consciously remember boarding it, finding their seat, putting the belt on and taking off on their way. But she's brought back again by the sudden popping of her ears as the plane levels off.

She's groggy and it takes her a moment to find which side Cooper's on. "Gum," she says.

It comes from the right side, along with a surprisingly reassuring squeeze of her hand.

"Hey," he says gently.

They are in a row of three seats. Cooper has the window seat. She's in the middle, and there is a strange man beside her. She panics for a second, grips Cooper's hand. Then sees that the man looks nothing like anyone she knows. He's large, though- very large. He's taking up half of her seat as well as his own, and the press of his bulging thighs into her side is alarmingly unwelcome.

"Switch seats with me," she says to Cooper.

"You said you didn't want the window."

"Changed my mind. Switch seats with me, Coop."

"Are you sure? Cause if you're gonna feel too confined back here..."

The man beside her fidgets and sends a roll of fat rippling like a shock wave across her skin. She can feel the contact, even through her clothes.

"Switch spots with me," she says again through gritted teeth. "Do it now, Cooper."

He senses something in her tone, bites his lip and looks like he's about to say something. But he unbuckles his seat belt and awkwardly maneuvers himself around her. He waits until she's got the seat belt on again and is looking a little more comfortable, before he speaks.

"You're scaring me," he says.

"I know I am. Scaring myself a little too, if you want the honest truth."

"Are you going to be okay there?"

She's never been claustrophobic. This, like many other things, is new. But she'll manage it better than she'll manage the alternative, a stranger's body again invading her space...

"It was touching me," she says. She keeps her voice low so as not to alert the stranger who is stuck so close to them for the duration of this apparently cursed adventure. "His body. It was touching me."

Cooper fidgets in his seat, at last noticing the prompt behind the seating change. "Oh, sweetie..."

"And, yeah. We're gonna need to work on this. Cause all I kept thinking, just like I did at the security checkpoint, was lord help me, I haven't even let Coop touch me there..."

"Baby, I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. But I'm thinking that's why I had such a strong reaction. And maybe if I...if I let you touch me again..." She sighs. "This'll be hard, working through this at my parents house. Not as comfortable there. Not the privacy we'd have at home. But we need to do this, Coop. Need to start it, anyway. Or I'll be jumping every time a stranger brushes up against me at the grocery store."

"I understand."

"So that's one thing, I guess. Need to let you start touching me again." She looks over, sees that their seatmate has put headphones on and appears to be dozing. "Okay. So, you want to talk now?"

"I think we just did. You scared me to death, you know. And at the gate, too, it was the same thing. Your eyes went blank and you just...checked out of it. Can I ask, where did you go?"

She hesitates, then admits it. "The beach house, where we stayed that one time. It's a safe place for me, Coop. Took me forever to think of one, when Violet asked me. I got other places I love, but they were mixed memories. That place was the only one that was pure. And Violet said, when things get fast on me, to sort of go there in my head and wait for it to slow down again."

"Good advice."

"Uh huh."

"Do you think that, next time, if it's only me around, you could just tell me you're feeling that way and let me back off before you do something so drastic?"

She has to admit, that option had not occurred to her. She was operating strictly in a 'run first, ask questions later' mindset. Maybe this was like the touching thing- she'd have to recognize that the threat may feel real, but the danger has passed and she can start dealing with these things as part of a normal life...

"You're right, Coop. You're right. I should have just said."

"That's my girl. I love you, you know. I just want you to be safe and happy. If that means backing off sometimes...well, you're learning better ways. I guess I need to learn better ways too."

"I just...I hope we can get to a point sometime where everything's not about this anymore, you know?"

"I do know. And that's why I think that, rocky departure notwithstanding, this trip will be a good thing. Give us something else to think about for a couple days."

"Maybe."

"So? Tell me more about your family."

* * *

She indulges him with a few harmless tales of childhood hijinks with two brothers and scrappy little her. She carefully avoids talk about Momma, and he doesn't press her. They get lunch just as she's about had it with the talking thing, and she tells him as the plates are cleared that she wants to sleep for awhile.

"Wanna be fresh when we get there," she says.

"And you don't want to talk anymore."

"That too. Truth be told, Coop, I'd rather be asleep right now. Stuff in my head I'd rather not think about."

"Anything I can do?"

"A little claustrophobic, like you thought I'd be. Little anxious about seeing Momma again. A little worn out from all that stuff when we were leaving. Just need you to let me be and let me regroup a little, 'kay?"

Good boy, he lets her sleep. Half an hour before they land, he wakes her. She pulls a hair brush and travel pack of wet wipes out of her carry-on bag and heads straight for the bathroom without saying a word. She spends longer than she planned to in there. She's staring at her face in the tiny airplane mirror, and she's scrubbing at it with the wet wipes, but all it does is make the dark circles under her eyes and the somber, sad little mouth smell lemony. Momma will see through this in about ten seconds, maybe fifteen if she's wasted and not thinking too well. Momma will see straight through it, and she'll have to talk about this all again. Not talk about it in any productive sense, of course-women like Momma don't talk about things like this. But she'll have to be nagged into putting on a better appearance, at least, so people won't look at her and know she isn't perfect. And she isn't sure she can do that right now. Hard enough putting on an appearance just for herself, at this point. Hard enough just keeping it together for her.

She goes out again, sits with Coop, squeezes his hand.

"I love you," he says.

And the plane begins its descent.


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

A car is there to meet them. Not Momma, or her brothers-she'll see them back at the house, she guesses. But there's always been someone helping out at home, given Momma's difficulties, so she is not surprised she's been met. She notes that it's a different someone than the last time she was here. Big Daddy and Momma combined had always been employers from hell, and turnover was high. Best she can tell, Momma seems to be carrying on the proud tradition just fine on her own. But Cooper seems a little squirrelly from how damn hot it is, and she's relieved they don't have to muck around with renting a car and wrestling with their luggage.

"You have a name?" she asks the driver. He's skinny and old as Methuselah, but he's polite and greets them with a sign bearing her name, and a courteous nod.

"Mr. Avery," he says.

"There a missus?"

"Back at the house, ma'am. Dinner's a-waitin."

Of course it is. Coop's not the only one who pushes food when he's nervous and doesn't know what to do about it. Cooper nudges her arm. "M'am?" he snickers.

"Best get used to it, Coop, it's Southern manners here. You got anything to drink, Mr. Avery? Mr. Friedman here ain't used to the weather."

He's stowing their bags in the trunk of a town car. "Mini-fridge on the passenger side. Vodka, soda water, orange juice."

"Just the juice, thanks," Cooper says, a little too firmly. He's sensing that her stress level is climbing again, and he's apparently designated himself her sponsor, in Amelia's absence. If she's inferred correctly from Mr. Avery's inventory run-down, there won't be enough of the juice or the water for drinking it straight, but she supposes the 'missus' Avery spoke of -Momma always did like hiring matched sets- has outfitted the kitchen back home for any guest-related contingency. And she's willing to let Cooper's hovering slide for now, so long as he doesn't make a nuisance of himself about it...

"Pansy west-coaster," Avery teases.

"You betcha," Cooper agrees with a good-natured nod. "Cooper Friedman."

"Mr. Avery. Like I said."

And that's it for conversation. Mr. Avery loads his stolid, wrinkled self into the front seat, presses a button. A screen rolls up and leaves them to their own devices. She spends most of the ride to the house with her eyes closed, her sweaty hand squeezing Cooper's steady one, and her thoughts trying very hard to stay away from what awaits her back at home.

* * *

The house is as beautiful, as white and as massive as she remembers. Her arm is twinging a little, more from stress and travel fatigue than anything else, but she's grateful to have good old-fashioned hired help for a change to handle the bags for her so she doesn't have to confess her weakness to Cooper right now. They enter the house, and it's empty.

"Duke? Landry?" she asks.

"Gettin' dressed, I'd wager," Avery says. "I called ahead. Told 'em we're arriving."

"And Momma?"

"Gettin' dressed too, I'm supposing. The missus ain't down here, so I'm guessing she's up there helping.'"

"Which means she's drunk already," she whispers to Cooper, feeling something tighten in her gut. "Damn. I'm supposed to be here for her birthday. That's a happy thing. Why is she making this hard?"

He squeezes her hand again, notices the limpness in her fingers when she squeezes back. "Babe?"

"It's fine, Coop. Suppose we should be dressing too. You did bring some fancy stuff?"

"This way," Avery says. He's still wearing his poker face. If he overheard any of their conversation, he isn't showing it. He leads them to what was her childhood bedroom, although of course it doesn't look it anymore. It's a guest room now, done up in overblown chintz and flowers and white everything. But it's spacious, and it has a door that locks and its own bathroom. She moves in that direction, but Coop stops her, draws her onto the bed beside him. Then he takes her hand and begins palpating it gently, moving up her arm as he goes. He finally drifts down to her fingers again, puts her hand in his.

"Squeeze," he says.

She squeezes, and he nods, then rests her palm on his. "Now, flex your wrist."

She flexes it up and down. Her fingers tremble and she can't quite control the descent.

"Is it hurting?"

"Only a little. It's been a long day, Coop. I'll be fresher in the morning."

"And I'll check it again. The bones feel fine, if that's any consolation. Everything is setting properly. If I were you, I'd wrap it, though, before we go back downstairs."

"Hell, no."

"Won't hurt as much if you brace it for a couple hours."

"I'm a little tired from the travel is all."

"I know you are. I'm only saying, if you wrap it, you'll make that one thing easier to bear until you get your strength back. And if you'll be dealing with any other stressors tonight, you might be grateful for that relief..."

"Wrapping it will just create a stressor, though. They'll all ask about it."

"So? You tell them you have an injury that flares up when you're tired, and it's easier for you to wrap your hand."

"We don't do it that way here. Coop, the thing about Momma is, she's not...she's...how can I explain this to you...you understand anything about addiction? About how it starts?"

"Well, there are substances such as drugs and alcohol that have addictive properties. And some individuals are very chemically sensitive to the..."

"No," she says. "Look at me, Coop. I'm an addict. In recovery, but still. And I'm young for it. It ain't just a chemical thing. Sure, the biological stuff won't kick in without the exposure in the first place, but something happens to precipitate that. Some pain-probably a real one, at first-some hole you're trying to fill. That stuff was around me. That inclination to use it as a coping skill was around me too, and it came from somewhere, Coop. It came from her. And that's affected how I've dealt with every aspect of my life. I know what they say about me, at Saint Ambrose. Maybe not now, so much. But I know what they say. I know where it came from. It came from her. And she's my momma and that makes her real important to me, but it's all tangled up because I know where it came from, Coop. And I'm bracing myself because I know that when I'm around her, I'll feel it again."

"I'm here for you," he says. "I know you hate it when that's all I have to say, but Charlotte, I'm doing the best I can and it's all I have right now. I'm here for you."

"Don't need you here now, need you here later. After she's spent a drunken meal telling me how pale and tired I look and that all I need is a stiff drink and a romp in the hay."

"Noted. Will she really say that to you?"

"She's probably high as a kite right now, so yeah, she will. No inhibitions, right? Look, it's not all as one-sided as you might think. I'm a trigger for her too, you know? The baby doll girl she longed for what with all the brothers, but I always liked HIM better. A tomboy like my brothers, and Big Daddy's pet. By the time I was old enough for her to like me a little more, I'd left home and barely looked back. She's a trigger for me, but lord help me, I'm a trigger for her too. It's all tangled up, like I said."

"I love you."

"I know you do. Well? Let's do it."

* * *

The brothers are pale and blond like she is, and already have drinks in their hands. They are both wearing khakis and sweater vests and they greet her with stiff, formal nods. She returns the nods just as gravely and stiffly, already slipping into role.

Her mother makes a grand entrance a few minutes later, tottering a little on garish heels, lips and nails done up in fire-engine red, body squeezed into a pale pink dress that exposes a little too much skin for someone her age.

"Charlotte!"

"Momma. Happy birthday."

"Thank you, darling. Step back. Let me look at you."

She twitches a little, but lets Momma grab her hand and spin her around. When it's over, her mother has smoothed back some of the sparkle and is shaking her head.

"They got no home cookin' there in California? You're skinny as a board, my dear."

"Momma, I'm fine."

"And you're wearing the hair straight again? I can't say it's a style that flatters you, especially."

"Momma, may I introduce you to Cooper Friedman. He's been here before, but I'm not sure as you've met him formally."

"Friedman. That a Jew name?"

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. King," he says.

"You may call me ma'am," her mother retorts sharply. "And what on earth kind of home you been keeping for her, young man? She's pale as a polar bear, and looks about as happy. You been treating her right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, it's sure not showing. You need to start making a better impression, young man. I'll be watching you, these next days. You see that you act proper, you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well! Where on earth did the missus go? I need a drink, and I can see that Landry is almost crying for a refill. Young man, do you prefer a whiskey or a scotch?"

"Water is fine," Cooper says.

"Now, what did I tell you?"

He sighs. "All right. A scotch then."

"Good man. And Charlotte, let me see. A whiskey girl like your father, weren't ya?"

"Water," she says. "Please."

"Right, right, I'm just your momma so you don't need to make any effort with me like your man does. All right , Miss High and Mighty, no evil alcohol for you. Ah! Missus Avery, at last. The young man and my son will have a scotch, please. And I'd like a refill."

"Ma'am, the bottle's done," Mrs. Avery says.

"Well, open another. We do have a cellar full."

"Very well. And your daughter?"

"She'll fend for herself, as she always does. See to the drinks, Missus Avery, for those of us who are partaking."

Cooper squeezes her hand again. For his own comfort, this time.

* * *

She thanks god for Southern discretion. Dinner passes in a blur of small talk. She lets Cooper do most of it, sharing snippets of their life with her family. They are very generic snippets and, like true repressed Southerners, none of them pry too deeply to ask for more. By the time desert rolls around, the day's events have caught up with her, and she's exhausted. And her hand is hurting more than just a little now. She can barely manage the fork.

"Charlotte?"

"Yes, Momma?"

"You look like you're positively gonna keel over, right here at the table. I can't possibly contemplate..."

"I'm fine, Momma. Just tired. It's been a long day."

"But don't you have a lot of those? Bein' a fancy doctor and all?"

"I'm still allowed to be tired!"

"Well, fine. No need to get snippy with me, young lady, I'm your mother and I hardly deserve to be spoken to in that tone of voice."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Of course, if you'd had a drink like the rest of us, you would've perked up some."

"I'm not drinking these days."

"Why ever not? Thought it was just pills you stayed away from."

She glances at her brothers, who are studiously ignoring them and attacking their deserts with interest bordering on desperation. "Momma, I'm not talking about this with you right now."

"Well, fine. And I see my desert ain't good enough for you either. Something wrong with my tiramisu?"

Yes, she wants to answer. What's wrong with it is, they're serving it with wedding silver that weighs a hundred pounds more than the regular kind, and she's still doing physio for a wrist that snapped in two places and an arm so broken that it needed surgery, so she doesn't think she can manage it right now. And on top of that, she's been flying all day, and she's been swimming in stress hormones, and she so exhausted she can barely see straight...

She picks up the spoon, tries to cut into a corner of the tiramisu. She hits a crunchy part, feels her finger twinge and the spoon falls out of her hand with a clatter.

Momma presses a hand to her mouth. "Charlotte!"

"Well, I told you I didn't want any!"

"Charlotte, you may now be excused," her mother says in the icy tones of someone utterly pushed to the limit. Cooper rises too, and her mother goes sugary again. "Now, young man. Sit, enjoy the tiramisu."

She wants to say something, wants to tell Coop she needs him right now. But she knows that normal people can manage for a few minutes without their boyfriends there. How can she explain that these are special circumstances without telling her mother what's really been going on? Coop looks at her, and she shakes her head. Then retreats, alone, to the bedroom, locks the door and throws herself down on the bed, submitting to the tears.

* * *

_I don't usually comment inside a fic like this, but I wanted to take a moment to sincerely thank everyone for the feedback so far! I treasure every comment, and I love how detailed some of you are in your feedback, both constructive and otherwise. I think you'll like the direction I go in with this this-next chapter, you'll see a softer side of Momma, and there is stuff coming up with the brothers too. And of course, lots of Cooper! Anyway, thank you for reading and commenting. I am posting about a chapter behind of what's written, so there's more on the way very soon!_


	7. Chapter 7

Part 7

Later, there is a knock at the door and she opens it, thinking it's Cooper. She's surprised to see her mother there. She is not holding the drink anymore, and looks contrite and apologetic.

"May I come in?" she asks.

She shrugs, moves back to the bed. Lets her mother follow her.

"Guess I owe you an apology," her mother says.

"Oh?"

"Been getting to know that man of yours. He sounds very in love. I'm glad for you, that you have that. That you've earned it."

"After years of being a stone-cold bitch, you mean?"

"I didn't say that. I never said that. Only ever said that you took a little after him, and you have to admit, you always were your daddy's little girl. Didn't mean you weren't my girl too, though, and maybe I wasn't good enough at telling you that. I know I was hard on you. Mommas always are with their girls. But I do love you. And I'm proud that you're making a life that's good."

She has to admit, she is surprised by this declaration. But she also very tired of talking, so she nods, accepts the compliment that way.

"Told me too that you have something going on with that hand- didn't say what, just that you'd had an injury, and it's been bothering you. I didn't realize."

"Yeah."

"Said it'd been a long day and these things flare up when people are tired and over-extend themselves. So, I owe an apology too, I guess, for not sensing how tuckered out you really were. Should have put off the big, formal dinner til tomorrow night, I guess, and realized a day of travel was likely to wear on you."

"I appreciate the apology. Thank you."

"And as for myself...well, you know how I am. Suppose I should make an apology for that too, but I'm guessing you understand better than most that sometimes I can't really help it. But I'm glad for you- it's partly why I'm glad. I never had a one who was much for talking, and when I couldn't put it on him, I think you know where I put it instead. Where I'm still putting it, I mean."

"You know, there are...there are meetings for that."

"I know there are. You have to talk at meetings, though. Not sure I'm quite ready for that."

She's a little stunned. Her mother's never been this open with her. She feels herself emboldening a little, and she admits "It gets easier, that part. The more you practice, it gets easier."

"I'm guessing it does. You keep on practicing, with that man of yours. You'll come out okay, I think. You'll come out better than I will, in the end."

"Momma, there's still time for you. You can be better, too."

"Maybe I can be. Maybe I should be. Still got your brothers. Still got you. I know there's stuff...stuff to make up for...I can't help it, Charlotte. Sometimes, I really can't. And I'm sorry if that's..."

And now, the maudlin part. Whatever her mother was on, she's crashing now. Where the hell is Cooper? Why is he leaving her with this?

"And now, you're here," her mother sniffles. "And..."

"And nothing." She rises off the bed, pulls her mother up with her. "I need bed, and so do you. Should I call the missus to come and get you?"

Her mother straights, adjusts her dress. Turns off the mood as quickly as it came. "That won't be necessary. Good night, Charlotte."

"Night, Momma."

Her mother turns to leave, then looks back at her briefly. "Charlotte? Do I want to know just what exactly happened to your hand?"

"I don't think so."

"Okay then. Goodnight, my dear."

* * *

She sleeps like a stone, doesn't even stir when Cooper crawls in beside her. There are the first early cracks of daylight seeping through the curtains when she eases gently awake and looks over beside her. He's there, as close as he can get without touching her, and he's still peacefully sleeping. Her mother is right, she IS lucky, and she allows herself a smile as she watches him.

He slowly comes to, and reaches over to her. And she's warm and she's safe and she's comfortable, and she feels something relax inside of her.

"Touch me, Coop," she whispers.

He's still a little foggy. "Hmmm?"

"Leave on what you're wearing. But come a little closer. Put your arm around me. It's okay"

He's fully awake now, and he gives her a surprised smile, then moves closer and wraps her in his arms. The panic flares up for a second as she feels hands on both sides of her, but she takes a deep breath, adjusts them so it's not quite as confining. And then she lets those hands lay there and touch her, lets those arms hold her and feel her warmth. And it's okay. A baby step, but one that's okay.

At some point, they hear movement in the hallway, and he pulls her closer, props himself up. He takes her hand and lays it on his belly, gently feeling the bone and muscle, doing his morning check.

"Still a little tender?" he asks her.

She shrugs.

"Want me to wrap it for you?"

"Not yet. Maybe later."

"You want to tell me what the plan is for today?"

"Momma has errands. Party stuff. We're going up to Grandmom's with the boys to keep out of things."

"We're going to meet your grandmother?"

"Course not, Coop, she's been dead ten years. Still have her house, though. Duke and Landry and I, we spent years of life there. Can't bring ourselves to sell it. I think they've set themselves up some kind of man-cave there."

"Sounds promising. And what will you do, while we're manning it up?"

"Man it up too, I'm guessing. I half-raised those boys, Coop. Reckon I can handle anything they throw my way."

He smirks, and she feels suddenly defensive. "What?"

"Just nice seeing you here. Say what you will about your Southern Gothic issues, this is still your home, you know. A part of you will always just slide right in like a piece that fits, and it's cool seeing that."

"My home is with you. Isn't it?"

"The home you chose, yes. But this is the home that made you that tough, confident, sexy woman that you are, and it's nice to see that side of you coming out again."

"I'm healing. Told you I was."

"Yeah, you told me. And until we came here, I guess I didn't quite believe it. But you're healing. And I am so, so in love with you right now."

"That's sweet. Now get dressed, lover boy. In something that makes you look a little butch, if you can manage. We're going to Grandmom's, with the boys, and you'll keep up or I'll leave you to flounder."

He smirks again, mock salutes. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

Momma's not at breakfast, but her brothers are tucking in to the full monty, eggs and toast and bacon and sausage. The missus has set out a plate of fruit for her, and as she serves herself from it, her brother Landry smirks.

"No protein, baby girl?"

"You want the heart attack special, knock yourself out. I'll live longer than you, and be prettier while I'm doing it. Any possibility of getting some yogurt around here?"

Mrs. Avery slips in silently, puts a bowl of yogurt on the table. Leaves just as silently as she came in.

"So," Landry says, turning his attention to Cooper. "You a city boy, ain't ya?"

"Through and through," Cooper says.

"Well, city boy. You ever shoot a gun?"

* * *

Grandmom's place is more of a cottage than anything else, a mile outside the city limits, where the heat turns country scrub into veritable backwoods and the black flies are in season 10 months of the year. They park by a dusty mail box, hike past the front door and straight into the acreage behind the little home. It's been years since she's been here, and she barely recognizes the place. Duke and Landry have been hard at work. There's a barbecue as big as her kitchen back in LA, and what looks like a full shooting range: paper targets, tin can pyramids, skeet pellets, the works. And enough hardware for a football team to blow off steam together.

"Redone the inside too," Duke says. "Guest rooms on the upstairs. Big screen on the down. There's a game at two. We got chips, we got beer. You want barbecue too, you'd best start shooting for it."

She sees something go primal in Cooper's eyes at the mention of the guns, and she squeezes his hand, pulls him away for a minute.

"Excuse me," she says to her brothers with a sweet smile. "Give us a sec."

"All right," she says to Coop once they are out of earshot. "You gonna be okay with this?"

"Are you?"

"Jesus, Coop, it's not like I've never shot a rifle. It's country life up here. Hunting's a religion. Big Daddy took us with him every summer, hunting deer."

"He did? How did I not know this about you?"

"Now, it might be smart of you to wrap my hand before we get going on this. Even a pissy little air rifle's got some bite if you're out of practice. But I'll hold my own. Will you?"

And this is where his demons come out, she guesses. This is where he's still healing, too. Because he nods and says the right things, but she can tell he's picturing the face of her attacker on every single one of those paper targets.

* * *

Duke and Landry say nothing when she comes out again with a tensor bandage wrapped around her hand. A weakness is something they'd normally rib her for, but those boys are maybe smarter than she gives them credit for, and like Momma, they seem to have sensed that this is not an area to poke at. She lets them choose the hunting guns for themselves, picks up an air rifle for herself.

"Tin cans, or paper target?" Duke asks.

She knows where Cooper's head is at, what he's seeing on the targets, and she isn't sure she wants to go there. It's always been her escape, out here. She can't taint this place with any kind of mental picture like what Cooper's going for. She picks the tin cans.

"I'll set you up the first round," Duke says. "Then you're on your own, baby girl."

She's fine with that. She's fine with enjoying the quiet of nature, the heft of the rifle in her hands as she picks off the targets, strong, confident, successful. She's fine with a little peace from all the goddamned talking.

She wonders what Grandmom would say, if she could see them now, see what's become of them, and of this little retreat of theirs. She's so lost in the wondering that she doesn't even here Landry come up behind her.

"She'd love it here," he says.

"Landry! Sneak up on a woman with a gun!"

"Sorry. Just...saw that you were thinking. Bet I know what about. She'd love it, Char. Maybe not the man-trappings. But the peace up here. She'd love it that we have a place to go where there is peace."

"You know, I think she would."

"Everything okay with you, baby girl?"

"Getting there."

He nods. "Sensed it. Think all of us did. Those last few phone calls...anyway, it's why we invited you. Talked Momma into letting us do her birthday up big. You may have been the one to raise us, baby girl, but we're still your brothers, and that gives us a special job in this world, no matter who's the older, the better, the doctor. So we sensed it. Brought you out here. For this."

That's as far as her brothers will go, with heart-felt talking. But it's enough. She squeezes his hand, draws back again. But before she puts back her walls, she asks him "Big Daddy ever come here?"

"No, baby girl. Just us. And you. And your man."

Maybe this can be a safe place too, after all. Not one she goes to in her head, like the beach, but a real one. A place she can come back to with these boys in her life. A place she can visit more than she has been, and feel at peace.


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

Coop hasn't quite got it in him to shoot an animal, and her brothers respect Southern hospitality more than they respect the hunt so they followed his lead and there's no barbecue. They lunch on the chips, the beer, and the juice and sandwiches that Mrs. Avery stuck in her bag when none of them were looking.

Duke cracks open the first beer, considers for a moment, offers it first to the visitor. He's always been the quieter brother. It's nice to see him open up a little to her man. One thing she'll give Coop, he's a people person. While he regales Duke with stories from his misspent medical school youth, she wanders inside to see what they've done to Grandmom's place.

Man-cave doesn't even begin to describe it: the flat-screen television is hooked up to at least four video game consoles, and there is a recliner with a mini-fridge built in. She wants to chastise those boys of hers for their excess, especially since she suspects that neither of them were the bank-rollers. But then she supposes she can't fault them for leaning on Momma for this. They need a safe place, just like she did. She can't fault them for that.

She almost doesn't hear Landry come in behind her, and she flinches when she feels his hand on her shoulder.

"Jesus!"

"Sorry. Just me, baby girl."

"Wish you'd stop calling me that."

He grins. "Aw, come on. It's our special name. Cause we love you, even if you did run away and leave us here."

"You're a grown boy, Landry King. Don't need me looking out for you."

"Aw, I'll always need ya. You done good, Char. That man of yours. You done good."

"Wasn't aware I needed your approval."

"Ah, right, you're the tough one. Never needed anyone, did ya?"

"Landry!"

"Sense that's changing now, though. Wondering if maybe it means you'll visit us more."

She loves them, of course she does. Southern Gothic baggage notwithstanding, they're her boys, and she loves them. Why has she never admitted that, in just those words, before? Of course she'll visit them. They're her boys...

He nods at her limp, bandaged hand. "Can I...can I see?"

She holds out her hand, lets him unwrap the bandage. Lets him run his hand along the imprint that it leaves on her skin.

"Jesus, Char. What the hell happened?"

"It's healing."

"On the hand, maybe. That the only place they get ya?"

"Landry, I..."

"It's all right. I know we're not the kind to say, not to each other, maybe. Some things, just hearing it don't make another understand, so why do it? No need for talk, right? No need for listening, either. Just come out here, in nature, and be sometimes..."

"Is that what you do?"

"It's what I try to do. Char, I can't just drink it all away, like Momma does. It's not enough sometimes. The bottle, I don't find me in there. I find me out here, I think. More and more these days, I find me out here."

"And Duke?"

"I'm working on him. Same way I worked on you."

"Landry King, you surprise me."

"A brother's got to look out for his kin. Even if they're older, smarter and prettier than he is. He's still the brother."

"So, what am I supposed to do with that? Am I supposed to just sit here and say something goopy?"

He leans back on that hideous recliner, pops open a soda can. "Like I said, baby girl. No need for talking. Just sit here, and be."

* * *

The ride home is a quiet one. They're all tired, or thinking, or both. Landry keeps looking at her, at Coop, like he knows something. Or like he's imagining. She wonders what he has in his head that haunts him so even a drink won't stop it. Wonders what drove him to find this quieter place out here...

She's back in her room again, enjoying some down-time before the big party, when she broaches the subject to Cooper.

"You have fun with them boys today?"

"Yeah. They're good kids, Char. Both of them are."

"Any of 'em seem off to you?"

He frowns. "Define 'off.'"

"Well, Duke's always been a quiet one. And Landry said something to me that had me wondering. Coop, do you think he has depression? Like, some kind of issue with stress?"

"Well, honest answer?"

"Yes, please."

"Probably wouldn't surprise me. He grew up with the same influences you had, didn't he? And those influences, whatever they were, drove both you and your mom into some scary coping strategies. Even you admit that. So if you're asking me, does he have baggage too? Like I said. Wouldn't surprise me."

"Fair enough. So, can we do something for him? While we're here?"

"I think he's doing it for himself already. They've built that retreat of theirs, didn't they?"

"But..."

"But you love him. And you'd do whatever you could for him. I get that. But Char, you have to let him carve his path, same way you're carving yours. I think he'll lean on you, if he needs to. But you have to let him find his way."

"One thing we can do. Coop, I'd like to visit here more. Could we...could we fit that in, with this life we're having? Come see my kin from time to time?"

"Oh baby, of course we can."

"They still need me. Grown boys, and they still need me. And they still worry, cause I'm their baby girl. Coop, I think Landry knows. Or suspects, anyway."

"Oh, babe..."

"Don't think he's worked it all completely, and I certainly don't think he wants to hear the actual words, that would just put thoughts in his head he don't need to be having. But I think he...look, can you talk to him for me? Set his mind at ease?"

"Um...I guess...but what should I say to him?"

"I don't know, Coop, you're the man here. How do men talk about these things? Just tell him you've got this one. He can put it aside this one time, cause you have it. Tell him I'm okay, Coop, and you have it. And don't put any pictures in his head that don't need putting there, you get me?"

"Char..."

"You said you'd help me, anything I need. I'm calling you on that. Do this one thing for me, Coop. I can't have those boys looking at me and thinking scary things. You need to put this to rest. Tell 'em you got it, and make sure they never have to think about it again, you understand me? You set those boys right for me."

He closes his eyes, mouths something that looks like a prayer. Then he nods, and leaves her to her preparations.

* * *

She showers, cleans herself up after her day of boys. Puts a dress on. Takes the bandage off her arm. She even curls her hair a little cause she knows that Momma likes it, and Coop comes back just as she's finishing.

"It's done?" she asks him.

"Probably the hardest conversation I've ever had to have. But yes, it's done."

"Both of 'em?"

"Yes."

"What'd you tell them?"

"What you said. That you know they've been worrying. That you came out here for them, so they wouldn't have to anymore. It's better now. They can see, it's better. And I have this one."

"Did they ask you? Did they ask you anything, about..."

"Went out of their way not to, actually. Not sure if that's your Southern politeness, or if they just can't even make themselves contemplate someone hurting you that bad, but they stayed far, far away from any kind of detail. When it was done, I got a nod from Duke, a handshake from Landry and then an offer of a beer."

"That sounds about right."

"You look lovely, by the way."

"I'm trying. Still taking effort, Coop. But lord help me, I'm trying."

"I love you."

"I know you do. I...I love you too, Coop."

He smiles, slow and gentle. "Hey, wow. Been awhile since you said it that way."

"Like I said, I'm trying."

"Can I kiss you? Would that be...?"

She closes her eyes, lets him get closer. She can still smell the woods on his skin. She can't quite bring herself to keep her eyes open, but she tries the kissing part, and it doesn't feel half bad. Another baby step. Well, good for her.

The boys aren't weird, when she comes down again. Both of them look her up and down, note the dress, note the curls. They note the faint flush of colour in her cheeks from a day outdoors, and a look passes between them that says this is done for them. They've put it away, good repressed Southern boys that they are. She wishes it was that easy with Addison, with Pete, with people who saw her at her weakest. Wishes she could zap them some good old Southern Gothic baggage and help them put it away...

"Hey," Cooper says. "No more serious thoughts. It's a party. Let's enjoy it, shall we?"

Sounds like another baby step, to her. But she'll take it.

* * *

She and her brothers save the gifts until the party's over and the rest of the guests have departed.

There are two boxes for Momma, one from each of the boys. "Oh, a sweater! Landry, how nice. And...another sweater. Duke, you shouldn't have!"

Then Momma gets to her gift, a last-minute suggestion she cribbed from Coop while they were driving back from Grandmom's.

"It's a plane ticket," she explains. "Open-ended, on the dates. You can come and see us in LA, Momma."

"Oh! That'll be nice."

"Maybe come to a meeting while you're there. Easier, getting your feet wet with strangers sometimes. This, I can vouch for."

Momma gives her a funny look. "Hmm. I bet you can. Thank you, darling. I've love to come and see you and your man."

And then the brothers start ribbing Coop for being a city boy. And she realizes that she's had the first normal, happy day since this all started.


	9. Chapter 9

Part 9

Momma invites her up to her bedroom, once everything's over.

"Tea?" she offers.

"Since when is that your drink?"

"Since yesterday. I'm trying it, Charlotte. Trying to see how it feels, living this life of mine clean. I'll come to LA, I think. And I'll go to your meeting."

"Oh, Momma, I'm proud of you."

"Not lived it for long enough to deserve proud, but thank you. Now, when did you want me coming up there?"

"When were you thinking?"

"Well, I was thinking that at some point soon, there might be some proceedings. Dealing with that thing what happened to you."

Her heart stops for a second. "Did Coop..."

"Now, none of that. I'm your momma, and I know these things. There was that week you missed your phone call, for one thing. Ever since then, I'd wondered...then seeing you again, seeing your man, seeing you together...well, a mother knows. Now, you don't have to say a word to me, and I reckon I'd rather you didn't, if that's all right. But I've guessed enough to wager there will be proceedings. And if you want me there for them, you just need to say the word."

"Thank you."

"I know I wasn't great with when you were small, Charlotte. But you ain't small now, and I'm trying to be better. What with your father gone...well, a woman gets lonely. Looks for some connections in her life. I'd like us to be friends, baby girl. More than we have been. Can we try?"

It's like anything else, she's learning. There has to be effort, for things to get better. And she can make that effort, she thinks, if others are there to help her. Damn, she's turning goopy. Violet will be so proud.

* * *

Their last night in her childhood home, she snuggles up beside Cooper, lets her head rest in the crook of his arm as he cuddles her. She's not quite ready for anything with the clothes off; he's letting her set the pace on the touching. Head on skin, that's fine. Hands on top of her, she still feels that first flush of revulsion and panic before she settles in, but then it's all right. Less talking is fine, but to her surprise, more talking is sometimes fine too.

"I admit," she confesses. "That I'm still having trouble with one big part of this."

"What's that?"

"This whole getting better thing. I mean, I found a safe place out here, a real one and not just in my head. Got close to my mother. Closer to you than I've ever been. Those are blessings. But they're all coming from something so awful..."

"Now, listen. You don't give yourself enough credit, Charlotte King. You'd have gotten there, on all of these things, one way or the other. Because it's life, and you learn, and you grow and things happen. If this hadn't started it, something else would have."

"But something else didn't. It was this."

"And with Violet, it was Katie. And with Pete, it was his mother. And with me, it was my brother. Life happens, Charlotte, to everyone. And good things change us, and bad things change us, and we just muddle along and try to do the best we can with things. You don't need to feel guilty, for having this, and a whole bunch of other things, being a part of you."

She nods. "You know, they knew about it, and I didn't think they would. Momma and the boys. None of 'em said it, in so many words. But just because they're not a bunch of talkers don't mean they don't see. They knew it. And they've been here for me, in their own ways, the whole time we've been here. And I wouldn't have seen it if you hadn't...if we weren't..."

"Hey. No tears, baby, no tears. It's okay..."

But they're cleansing tears this time-of grieving, but also of gratitude. For him, for them, for the ones back home who pushed and let her feel like maybe she'll be okay again. They're cleansing tears. And he holds her and lets her get them out.

* * *

She wakes up screaming and kicking at the bedsheets. Coop's there, almost on top of her, trying to wrestle her to calm again. And as she comes to and reality returns to her, the betrayal takes her breath away. Here, she's had her best day in weeks, her most healing and cathartic day, at a place full of people who love her, and that son of a bitch bastard who did this can reach her here?

"Hey. Breathe, baby. Char, it's okay..."

There's a knock at the door, and she buries her head under the sweaty blankets, shakes her head at him. He pats her arm, goes to the door, says the necessary things. A moment later, it's quiet. He comes back to bed, turns on the bedside lamp, faces her.

"You know," he says. "This will happen."

"Shut it, Coop."

"And that will happen too," he says. "I'll still be here. You're healing. I know you are. But there's still a lot of processing. Still a road ahead."

"You're sounding like a self-help book, Coop."

"Well, it got you calm again, didn't it?"

She sighs. "You sure do love to talk."

"Damn right, and it's one of the things you love about me. Feeling better?"

"Maybe. Who was out there, Coop? Momma? Them boys?"

"Landry, but I got the feeling he was representing."

"So, they all know. Damn."

"What they know is, they heard us awake and wanted to make sure everything was okay in here. That's it, Charlotte."

"But..."

"But no, you know those boys. Good old repressed Southern lads that they are, they won't over-think this. Why should you?"

"Because...because..."

"Say it." And then, he's whispering it like a mantra, over and over again. "Come on, baby, just this one time, say it. Say it."

"Cause if I don't, it means I just accept it, Coop! I just accept that he still gets to be in my head. And I can't...I can't..."

"Hey..." He folds his arms around her, rocks her gently. "Shhh, baby, it's okay..."

"I want it done. Every time this happens, every time I wake up with that man's face in my head, it means it isn't done, and I've just worked so hard to make it be..."

"These things take time."

She closes her eyes again. "I know they do. But Coop, lord help me, I just want it done."

* * *

Momma's in cheerful spirits when they see her at the breakfast table- a little too cheerful, when she thinks about it. Trying to pretend she didn't hear whatever she heard last night. The boys won't quite meet her eye, and, trading exasperated glances with Cooper, she pulls Landry aside and lets him have it.

"Ninth grade. Junior prom. You and that the littlest Holcomb sister."

"Jesus, Char!"

"She dumped your ass halfway through Sinatra, threw a glass of punch in your face. You cried for weeks, Landry, like a baby. Wept in Grandmomma's lap. Saw that glass of punch coming at you over and over and over again in your head..."

"Jeez, baby girl..."

"And I reckon me saying this right now, you can still picture it, can't ya? Still hear that clink of ice in that glass, every time you hear Sinatra."

"Never did like that song."

"Well, you know what I'm getting at. Person goes through a thing, they're entitled to some business. And they don't need you two lunks getting underfoot about it, you hear me? You put it away, little brother. You look at me that way again, and I promise you, Clarissa Holcomb won't be the only girl who'll ever give you a scene to remember. You get me?"

"We love you," he says. "We don't know what to do."

"You're doing it. That's all you need to know, and I'll I'm gonna tell ya. Some things, you'd best keep vague. You understand me?"

"I'll imagine," he says, in a voice so quiet she almost doesn't hear. "Duke, he doesn't...I do, though. Drives me out to Grandmom's when I can't stop thinking too much, and I find peace there. But baby girl, I imagine."

"Then imagine Coop with me, handling it. Cause that's how I'm getting through this thing. We're none of us alone, Landry King."

"Baby girl, just tell me you're okay. Tell me, or I'll imagine..."

"Gettin' there, and that's the truth. It helped, coming here. Didn't know it would, but it helped, and I'm gettin' there. You don't need to put any other pictures in your head but that. Now, can you look at me? Can you look at me and put this all behind you like the good old repressed Southern boy you are?"

He smiles at that. Asks her if she wants one more stab at his rifles before she goes. They don't have time for a drive to the country, but she recognizes that he needs to see her leave in strength, so she challenges him to an arm wrestle.

And she beats him.

With the broken hand.

The end

* * *

_Thanks so much for reading! Your wonderful comments made it all worthwhile. Glad you enjoyed the story!_


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